


Rubble

by Lestradesexwife



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, Bondage, Bottom John, Breathplay, Dark Sherlock, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Rough Sex, Sex Addiction, Sexual Coercion, Vampire Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-19 20:07:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1482283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lestradesexwife/pseuds/Lestradesexwife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's side lost the war, he was captured, given the choice of suicide, life of hard labour, or becoming a slave to a Dominus.</p>
<p>Dominii are a cross between a vampire and a succubus, and prolonged exposure causes addiction in their victims. </p>
<p>John decides that if he is going to go out he might as well have a smile on his face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Strange Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> If you all aren't following [Consulting_smartass](http://archiveofourown.org/users/consulting_smartass/pseuds/consulting_smartass)'s podfics you are missing out. The entire existence of this story is due to her poking me repeatedly with a stick, any punctuation is also her doing. A great friend, lovely person, AMAZING BETA and just generally someone you should follow. 
> 
> I'm a big fan of tying John up, just generally socking him right in the emotions and pushing him physically. Please read (or not) accordingly.
> 
> I'll warn for other content at the beginning of each new chapter... and i'm going to leave this one open because i have no idea where I am going with this. Vaguely inspired by Archiaarts various works... I just really also like the idea of getting addicted to someone, in a literal sense.

“You wait here until he calls for you.” The housekeeper gestures at the floor beside a door. “Don’t try to go in before he calls, and don’t move from that spot. There’ll be trouble if he has to go looking for you.”

 

“Yeah, I get it.” John settles onto the floor and arranges the loose robe around him, fighting to keep his expression clear. 

 

She gives him a once-over and reaches for the chain dangling from the wall.

 

“You don’t have to. I won’t run away.”

 

“All the same to you, I don’t think I will risk it.” 

 

He tilts his head and lets her clip the chain onto his collar, the tiny lock snapping into place. He pulls away from the wall before he can stop himself and is brought up short by the tight feeling around his neck. He slides his knees closer to the wall and closes his eyes, willing himself calm even as his fists clench inside the robe. He can do this, he’d known what it would mean when he’d signed on. They’d explained it to him. It might be either a quick, pleasant death, or it could be years and years of… well years of being used as a food source on a regular basis.

 

The temptation to rip the chain out of the wall and bolt is only countered by the sure knowledge that there is nowhere he can go. He straightens his back and looks up at the housekeeper. “Do you stay and watch this, too?”

 

“No… oh no. I have work to do. This place doesn’t keep itself tidy. Try not to worry, he’s… it isn’t as bad as all that.”

 

“I’m not sure, but I think you have no idea what you are talking about.”

 

She stiffens, turns on her kitten heels and storms off. John leans his head against the wall and tries not to think about how stupid he is, _not like she could protect you, you asked for this remember._ He resolves to say something nice to her if he sees her again. 

 

The hallway is quiet and the floor is hard under his knees, making him more conscious of the fact that under his robe he is naked… well, he’s wearing a collar and cuffs around his ankles and wrists, but nothing that could really qualify as clothing… as such. 

 

He rolls his shoulders and pushes himself up into a proper kneeling position. Waiting is easy, the army taught him that, and waiting for something that might end him is even easier, because it is more like anticipation. His adrenaline spikes and he’s calmer than before, ready for what comes next.

 

Which doesn’t actually happen for some time. He’s left to wait long enough that he considers calling out, wondering if the Dominus has forgotten about him. Or if he’s been left outside the wrong door. His eyes are drooping when the door opens and he recoils in surprise, stopping short of pulling on the chain.

 

“Tedious. Give me your neck.”

 

John tilts his head and feels cool fingers pulling at the lock. When the chain falls away he is hauled to his feet with gentle pressure around his collar. He blinks rapidly and takes in the Dominus in front of him; pale skin, high cheekbones and a mop of unruly hair, dark purple shirt and black trousers John might have been able to afford second hand on his army pension. 

 

The Dominus holds the door open and gestures broadly for John to enter. The room is very nearly the opposite of what John expected. Books strewn on every surface, dark woods and leather and the faint smell of cigarette smoke. 

 

The sound of the door lock engaging puts some tension in John’s shoulders.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to hurt you.”

 

John half turns and looks at the Dominus, eyebrow raised. “You aren’t.”

 

“Not more than necessary, no. I’m no fledgling.” The Dominus moves around John, closer than necessary but not touching him yet. “Take that off.”

 

John lifts his hand to the clasp at his shoulder and unfastens it. “How much is necessary?” He pulls the robe off his shoulders and balls it in front of him.

 

The Dominus’ eyes flash and his nostrils flare. “Not more than you can take, and only if you deserve it. Fold that, _neatly_ , and put it on the table. If you treat the things I give you poorly again you will be punished.”

 

John maintains eye contact as he folds the robe, the edges not entirely lining up but most of the wrinkles smooth out under his hands. He looks away to settle the square of fabric on the coffee table, next to a wire bowl containing apples. 

 

“It’s like that?”

 

“Indeed. I will explain rules only once, you will obey them. If you do not obey there will be consequences.”

 

John sniffs, looks around the room. “Yes, Sir.”

 

“Kneel.” The Dominus’ eyes are bright,  sparking green and John’s knees go a little weak as he folds down.  “The proper answer is ‘Yes, Dominus.’ When you are permitted to speak that is.” He circles around behind John and there is a pause, a consideration before he bends John’s elbows. When the cuffs on his wrists meet he feels the maglocks engage. Technically his shoulder is still wounded, and the position pulls damaged muscle tight. It’s close enough to one of the physio exercises the doctors gave him that he doesn’t complain.

 

“You fought in the wars. You were injured.”

 

“Yes, Dominus.”

 

“Captured?”

 

“Yes, Dominus.”

 

“We tried to live with you, tried to co-exist. You fought against us, and yet you volunteered for this… suicide by Dominus? Will you provoke me until I kill you?”

 

“No, Dominus. I don’t have a death wish.”

 

The Dominus’ nails scratch along John’s shoulder. “The lesser of evils?”

 

“Yes, Dominus.” Captured, he’d been given _options_ , self-administered lethal injection, the mining colony on Pharrus 7, or a ‘lifetime’ of servitude to the Dominii. 

 

“Only three percent of your fellows felt the same way. We’ll be able to expand the mining operation with the number of volunteers. Oh course, we have to watch them… rebels. Tedious.” His fingers trail over John’s hairline, running against the grain into his military haircut. “You’ll have to grow this out a bit, I’ll want something to pull.”

 

“Yes, Dominus.” The answer feels thick on his tongue, warmth spreading through him, tension bleeding from his shoulders. He’s safe and warm, the motion of the Dominus’ hand over his scalp sending sparks through his nerves. John sways slightly, pushing into the contact.

 

“Are you a rebel? Is there some part of you that wants to fight against me?”

 

John draws himself up, clenches his fists against the cuffs and clears his throat, embarrassed by how quickly he’d fallen under the Dominus’ powers. “There’s a part of me that wants to not want what you are going to do with me, Dominus. I know… I know what will happen. I know that there is something about the Dominii that’s addictive, I don’t want to... to not have a choice.”

 

“And if I set you free?”

 

“I’ve got no family, to speak of. The current… climate makes me undesirable. If you freed me…” John’s brow furrows, “I think I might last a week or two. At least this is three square and a place to sleep.”

 

“And the fucking?”

 

John feels the blush that starts in his hairline and cascades over his shoulders. “I don’t mind… I was in the army, it isn’t my first time…” John ducks his head. “I’m sorry, Dominus.”

 

“You enjoy it.”

 

John fights against the urge to put his forehead on the floor, curl in on himself and forget that this is happening. “Given a choice, Dominus… I prefer women.”

 

“That’s not what I asked.”

 

“I do, Dominus.” His cock twitches, remembering Murray holding him down, fingers stuffed in his mouth to keep John quiet, taking him quick and raw in their foxhole. 

 

There’s a long moment of silence. John doesn’t turn to try to look at the Dominus, knows better just on basic principle than to speak until spoken to. 

 

“I will accept the use of a safeword, until we have grown _accustomed_ to one another. Do you have a preference?”

 

“Blackcurrant, Dominus.” John’s heart races, knowing that once the addiction sets in he won’t safeword, and if he has to safeword before he’s addicted… well chances are he won’t get a second chance.

 

The Dominus’ fingers curl under his collar, pulling firmly. “Up.”

 

John follows the tug, stumbling as he adjusts to the Dominus pulling him across the room. He doesn’t balk when they enter the Dominus’ bedroom, not even when they angle away from the bed towards a frame of steel bars and suspension chains. His hands are released and repositioned over his head, maglocks engaging with the chains. His collar is attached to a shorter chain, forcing him to stand on tiptoe. 

 

“Lift your left foot.”

 

John obeys and feels the maglock engage on the cuff on his ankle. He’s left balancing on only the big toe of his right foot, head tilted awkwardly and nearly kneeling on air. 

 

“Now the right.”

 

John clings to the last moment of contact with the floor, thinking perhaps he will not survive after all. Once his right foot leaves the floor and the lock engages with his cuff all of the chains tighten, loosening the pull on his collar and contorting his body further into a kneeling position. The Dominus slides a latex sheet under John’s torso, attaching it to more chain so that most of his weight is no longer supported by his arms and legs. He’s completely exposed and open, floating and positioned at just the right height. His cock twitches against the latex, it really shouldn’t be turning John on… the idea that he’s about to give himself over completely to this stranger. 

 

He almost missed the snap of a latex glove, but not the sound of a lube bottle being opened, and definitely not the cold sensation of lube spilling between his arse cheeks and down over his hole. The Dominus circles his fingers once over John’s hole and then pushes in, two fingers robbing John of the ability to breathe for an instant. The Dominus waits just long enough for the discomfort to fade and then pulls out, pushing in again with three fingers. John’s back tenses and his head snaps up, an involuntary whimper in his throat. 

 

The Dominus pauses again, knuckles pressed against John’s perineum. John’s body has almost accepted the pressure when he begins scissoring his fingers, stretching John further still. John presses his eyes closed and pushes back onto the fingers, breathing through his nose and biting his lip to stay quiet. 

 

“When I no longer desire to hear the sounds you make, I will gag you.”

 

The air goes out of John in a solid gust, he deflates and relaxes against the chains. “Oh… oh gods, it is too much… please, Dominus, slower.”

 

The fingers in his arse close, but twist and thrust faster than before. John groans at each brush over his prostate. The moment when his body tips over from pain into pleasure is palatable, his head drops between his shoulders.

 

“That’s it. Good boy, you’re mine now.” The Dominus’ hand leaves John’s body and he hears only the wet snap of the glove being removed and tossed on the floor. John’s breathing is loud in his ears, blocking out most of the details around him. John sees the graceful arc of the Dominus’ trousers as they are tossed on the bed, and the second cold splash of lube on his arse is a shock he barely has time to recover from before the Dominus is pushing into him again. 

 

After his preparation John doesn’t expect delicacy, the Dominus pushes into him in one stroke that seems to go on forever. John groans low in his throat, the sound becoming higher and more desperate as he is filled. The Dominus wraps his fingers around John’s thighs and pulls him closer, chains clicking as they adjust to the new angle. 

 

“It’s so big…. oh gods… gods… I can’t… _please_ I can’t…” John’s skin feels super heated, sweat slicked and burning where the Dominus is touching him. 

 

“You can and you are. More importantly you _will_.” The Dominus’ voice is calm and cold, his fingers tighten on John’s hip and thigh as John tries futilely to pull away. 

 

John bites his lip, dragging in deep gulps of air through his nose. “Oh… gods… please, _just do it please, Dominus… I can’t.”_ John whispers the last part; hating himself, the Dominus and the bloody fucking war that had brought him here, but he knows his body well enough, knows what he needs for this to work. 

 

The Dominus pulls John’s hips up and thrusts sharply, sliding home until John can feel the press of cotton and sharp bony hips against his arse. The Dominus strokes his hands over John’s hips and arse, soothing his tremors. Gentle fingers spread John’s arse cheeks and slide down to touch the stretched hole. “That’s a good boy, see… I knew you could do it. So tight for me.” John’s arse contracts at the touch and they both groan. The Dominus puts his hand on the flat of John’s back and holds him steady, rocking his hips slowly into John without really moving his cock in John’s arse. 

 

The Dominus drags his fingers over John’s arse, the blunt/sharp sensation of well groomed fingernails dragging over John’s skin bringing a small sound up from the back of John’s throat. “There, let me see.”

 

John groans, wishing that he had something to brace against as the Dominus starts to move, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back into him. “ _oh fuck… oh fuck… please… oh gods… Dominus… please… please…_ ” The pain gives way to pleasure, and he begins to notice the friction on his cock against the latex sheet, the Dominus’ thrusts shoving him forward, the Dominus’ hands pulling him back. “ _oh gods, fuck… I’m close… Dominus, please I think I’m going to come._ ”

 

The Dominus growls his approval and reaches forward, pulling on the chain around John’s neck until he is forced upright, his back pressed against the Dominus’ chest. “Such a greedy little boy. Tell me how badly you want it.”

 

“Please, Si-Dominus… please I need to come, gods please let me come.” John shivers as the Dominus presses his mouth against John’s left shoulder, lips teasing at the edge of John’s scar. The Dominus wraps his arms around, one low around John’s torso, the other snaking under John’s left arm and cupping his throat. John’s body rocks with the shallower push of the Dominus into him, the new angle dragging over his prostate. “ _please, oh gods… please it’s so big… gods you feel so good in me. please… oh fuck… gods… more…_ ”

 

John nearly misses the feeling of the Dominus sinking his teeth into John’s shoulder; the bite feels more like pressure on the scar than anything sharp or tearing, really only feels the Dominus sucking on his skin. John doesn’t have the higher brain functions right now to calculate how much blood he is losing because the Dominus’ hand wraps around his cock and pulls in time with his thrusts. 

 

The Dominus’ mouth breaks away from John’s shoulder. “That’s good… you _are_ delicious, you taste like sand and fire, and how much you love having my cock in you. Greedy. Little. Soldier.” Sharp hard thrusts for punctuation, squeezing John’s cock to bring him back from the edge.

 

“ _please, Dominus… please, more… harder…”_

 

“And a filthy _liar_. ‘I prefer women, Dominus.’ I see the truth now.” The Dominus licks John’s shoulder, chasing a trickle of blood. “You’re anemic, more leafy greens for you, young man.” He laughs into John’s skin as John tries to both press forward into the Dominus’ hand and back onto his cock. 

 

The Dominus slows his strokes, pulling gently on John’s cock and fucking slow and smooth into John’s arse. John flails ineffectively against the chains until he manages to wrap his hands around the chains at his wrists and gain some purchase against the suspension sling. 

 

“That’s a good boy, you’re sweeter when you work for it…” The Dominus drops his hands from John’s body and stops moving entirely.

 

“ _n_ _o...nononono… please… don’t stop… please Dominus.”_ John pushes back against chains, tries desperately to fuck himself on the Dominus’ cock. “ _Please, please fuck me… please. oh gods… I want it… please.”_

 

John screams, ragged and cut off when the Dominus grabs his hips and slams back into him, fucking him harder and faster than before. 

 

The second bite is deeper, the Dominus locks his jaw and twists, tearing the skin of John’s shoulder and drawing a long low cry from John. It should hurt, and it does, but it also feels like the morphine injection he’d given himself on the field, if morphine felt like the aching burn of molten metal, like sparks from an anvil, or a volcano.

 

His body reacts to the intensity of the stimulation and he orgasms, arse clenching around the Dominus’ cock, heart pounding, throat constricting, pathetic gurgling noises the only sound he is capable of making.

 

The Dominus’ cock hardens in John’s arse, the pressure on John’s prostate increases, sending spikes of pleasure through him. 

 

“That’s it. Good little soldier, so tight, so tight for _me_.” His fingers curl around John’s neck, pulling John down hard onto his cock. 

 

John can’t form words, can’t even beg the Dominus to finish, he can only grunt every time the Dominus slams into him, sharp cries as he twitches against the chains. 

“Stay with me, little soldier. Here’s your reward.” The Dominus groans, and pulls himself tight into John’s arse. 

 

“ _oh! oh gods!”_ John’s body tenses, mirroring the pulses of the Dominus’ orgasm into his body. This, _this_ is what orgasm should feel like. John’s cock is soft and spent between his legs but every nerve in his body is on fire with pleasure; such pleasure as to erase the memory of pain forever from his mind, he cannot feel the pull of the chains at his wrists, the strain on his hamstrings from the position. All the small pleasures of John’s life vanish as well, and he knows he will never desire anything else but this.

 

“ _Fuck_.”

 

 

 


	2. It's enough to be better.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings for breath play, rough sex and some more dub-con.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing would ever get posted if it wasn't for consulting_smartass. She's too modest.

John daydreams, watching Murray’s hands move on the other side of the fire. Murray always talks with his hands but it gets worse, or maybe better from John’s perspective, when one of their unit finds a stashed bottle of whiskey in a locked bottom desk drawer. 

 

They’ve shared the bottle around, and there wasn’t enough for anyone to be really drunk, just… loose, and the stories start tumbling over each other around the fire, bragging and exaggerations of epic proportions. John’s heard all of Murray’s stories before so he stops paying attention, daydreaming instead about the way Murray’s hands would feel… 

 

John would like to blame the whiskey, the way the fire light danced over Murray’s features and or the complete lack of anything like a shag in the last three weeks. The truth of it though is that Murray has the sort of casual sexuality that John finds irresistible. Murray knows that he looks absolutely, painfully, gorgeous in his kit, knows that he doesn’t have to wiggle his hips and throw glances over his shoulder to have half the unit salivating over him. Just quietly goes about his day.

 

Which leaves John staring at the way Murray’s hands move when he talks and wondering what they would feel like wrapped around his neck, around the back of his head, pushing John down onto his cock, holding John’s head still while Murray fucks into his mouth. 

 

John leans forward with a groan, tipping himself forward to cover his growing erection. “Gods, Murray, if I have to hear that story one more time…” John twists, pulls his doss bag out from under him and stands, feigning a little more intoxication than he is actually feeling. “You lot can stay and listen to his lies, I’m done for the night.”

 

John turns away from the fire and lets his vision adjust to the darkness around them before he moves away. The school that they are bunking in is secure, well... as secure as they are going to get. John pushes out of the dining hall and heads towards the classrooms, hoping to find one or a corner of one unoccupied enough that he can have a quick wank and try to… well not forget about the idea of Murray fucking him senseless… but maybe get it out of his system. He keeps walking, following the basic principle that the rooms closest to the dining hall are already occupied. 

 

He’s already turned the corner when he hears the door to the dining hall bang shut again. Doesn’t really even think about it, just finds an open door and toes it open. They’d cleared the building, but there was no point barging into a room and waking someone up. 

 

“Watson.” Not a whisper, because whispers travel farther than normal quiet speech.

 

_Fuck._ “Murray.” John’s blood sings, but he manages to tamp down his arousal, holding the doss bag in front of him to cover the more obvious signs.

 

Murray turns the corner, a slightly lighter blotch against the darkness of the hallway. 

“Shouldn’t you be…” That’s all John manages before Murray has crossed the distance between them and pushed John hard against the doorframe. 

 

John drops the bag and moves to defend himself, breaking the hold Murray has on his shoulders and pushing back, sliding his foot between Murray’s and hooking around Murray’s ankle to try and pull him down. Murray shifts his balance and pushes forward against John, shoving them both through the doorway. John manages to land a solid left, but then he’s caught and pressed into the door. His left arm twisted up behind him and his nose and mouth full of the smell of old wood and varnish. 

 

John rolls his face against the door, trying to get an angle to see Murray. “What the hell?”

 

The sound of the lock turning on the door answers him. John can feel the click of the bolt through the wood, the faint grinding sound of unused metal sounding loud against the pounding of his heart.

 

“ _Watson_.” This one is a whisper, barely a breath in John’s ear. Murray twists John’s arm higher and pushes him flat against the door, John’s shoulder and elbow protesting. Murray’s weight surrounds John, and everything goes still.

 

“ _Fuck_.”

 

“That’s the idea, Watson.” Murray grinds his hips against John’s arse. “You going to be good for me?”

 

John turns his face back to the door, tension bleeding from his shoulders, he can’t actually move, but his hips and arse tilt up, rising to meet the pressure Murray is putting on him. “Yeah, _gods_ , yeah.”

 

Murray releases John’s arm, grinding his hips hard into John’s arse. “Like that, don’t ya?”

 

John makes a low, broken sound in his throat and pushes back against Murray’s thrusts. He’s got no hope of actually dislodging Murray, the other man is bigger and heavier, but he does manage to work his arm down to his side, flexing his wrist. 

 

There’s no room between John and the door, the edges of the panels dig into his face and he nearly can’t breathe from the pressure on his chest. “I will… whatever… whatever you want.” The words are pushed out of him with the motion of Murray’s body against his.

 

Murray’s hand is hot against the short cropped stubble of John’s hair as he holds John’s skull against the door, holding him tight even as he backs away enough to flip John around. John’s moan is cut off when Murray’s hand covers his windpipe, just enough pressure that John is gasping, mouth open and something that isn’t sound escaping his lips.

“That’s it, quiet.” Murray’s other hand works at his belt and fly, pushing them down far enough to expose his cock. 

 

John closes his eyes, _fuck, yeah,_ forming on his lips. 

 

Murray moves back, just enough that his weight is no longer holding John against the door and puts pressure on John’s throat until he’s sliding down to the floor, knees sprawled out in an untidy mess in the small space Murray allows him. 

 

“No teeth.” 

 

John doesn’t have a chance to reply before the head of Murray’s cock is pressed against his lips and he’s opening his mouth and curling his lips around his teeth, savouring the taste of Murray’s skin as it slides over his tongue. 

 

The first thrust is almost gentle, testing John, pushing deep until he bumps against the back of John’s throat. John swallows hard, fighting his gag reflex, feeling his face redden. Murray’s hands come up to cup John’s head, pulling him down until John’s forgotten to try to breathe. 

 

“Get it wet.”

 

John responds by moving his tongue, hauling in air through his nose whenever Murray pulls back enough to clear John’s airway. His mouth and throat relax as Murray fucks him, and it is all so _easy,_ John doesn’t need to do anything. Murray holds him still, and when John manages to open his eyes and look up, Murray is watching him through half lidded eyes. John hums his… contentment... and closes his eyes again.

 

He’s hauled back to his feet, the button on John’s fly popping off and skittering across the room as Murray pulls at his trousers. He actually manages to help Murray as he pushes down John’s trousers and pants past his knees before he’s facing the door again and Murray is kicking his feet apart. 

 

“Just take it, Watson.”

 

John croaks, “Yeah,” before swallowing and trying again. “Fuck, yeah… do it.”

 

Murray spits, smears John’s hole with his thumb, pushing in just to the first knuckle. John pushes back, giving himself enough space, bracing himself on his right arm and his forehead, he turns his head to the side and sinks his teeth into the meat of his arm to keep from crying out as Murray pushes in. _so big, fuck… so good, fucking hurts… more… murray… more_ never makes it past his teeth, and he is only vaguely conscious of Murray spitting again, sliding deeper. 

 

John relaxes when Murray stops moving, focuses on breathing.

“That’s it, gods, you’re tight… let me fuck you, Watson.”

 

John’s knees go a bit weak when Murray wraps his arms around John, rough fingers wrapping around John’s cock and pulling, sharp quick tugs, faster than the movements of his hips. Murray’s other hand covers John’s mouth, stifling the moans that John can’t bite back.

 

John’s tongue slips between his lips, runs along the seam between Murray’s fingers. He tastes like smoke and dirt, metal, sweat and just a hint of whiskey; Murray slides two fingers into John’s mouth and John sucks them, swirling his tongue over the pads and callouses, greedy for the taste of Murray’s skin. 

 

“Gods, _Watson_!” Murray’s hand abandons John’s cock and grabs his hip, fucking deep and hard into John. 

 

John fists his cock and lets the force of Murray fucking him push his cock into his hand. He comes with a low garbled cry, any words he tries to form blocked by the pressure of Murray’s fingers against his tongue. Murray doesn’t stop fucking him, pushes John through his orgasm and past the point of sensitivity until John is sucking desperately on Murray’s fingers to keep from crying out.

 

“Fucking… tight little tart.” Murray pushes John forward, pulling out and splashing come over John’s arse. He slicks his cock with it and pushes back into John. 

 

John lets Murray’s fingers drop from his mouth and whimpers. “Fuck, _gods_ , enough please.”

 

Murray pulls out, rubbing the head of his cock over John’s hole. “Yeah, alright.” Murray steps back and John hears the sound of his clothing being put to rights. 

 

John stoops and pulls up his own pants and trousers. “You’ve actually ruined my trousers.” Murray had managed to rip the button hole as well as snapping the button off. 

 

“I’ve got a sewing kit in my bag. If I fix your trousers can I fuck you again in the morning?” Murray grins as John turns to look at him, just a bright flash of teeth against the darkness of the room.

 

“You can fix my trousers. And if you find some lube, you can fuck me in the morning. Now get out and let me sleep.” John gives up trying to hold his trousers up with just the zipper and lets them hang open. He pushes off from the door and opens it to retrieve his doss bag, holding the door open for Murray. 

 

Murray nods and slips past John, heading back to the dining hall for his pack. “See you in the morning.”

*******************************

John wakes, not on the debris strewn floor of an abandoned school, but on a comfortable cot in a bright white cell. Memories of the Dominus, being shot, captured and given his choice fill in the gaps between then and now. 

 

Murray is in cryosleep on his way to Pharrus 7 for all John knows, and it seems unlikely the Dominus will see fit to answer, even if John bothered to ask. 

 

John swings his feet over the side of the cot, staring at his clean skin and the spotless floor until the housekeeper/prison guard brings him his breakfast. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is almost entirely a_xmasmurder's fault... because she squeed over Murray


	3. If I could.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh dear... no porn this chapter... sorry for the delay and all. Porn soon, I promise.
> 
> John settles into something approaching a routine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Interrosand and Consulting Smartass for the beta work on this.

The housekeeper comes in with his breakfast and a fresh robe. John keeps the flimsy sheet around his waist until the heavy robe drops over his shoulders and he can fasten the clasp. He feels better with the robe covering him, even though he’s pretty sure she’s seen all of him there is to see by now. 

 

“Good morning.” John tries for light and carefree but even he can tell that his voice sounds rough and… well horrible. 

 

“Here you go, dear.” She passes a bowl and spoon through the bars of his cage. Granola, yogurt and fresh fruit. “What do you like in your tea?”

 

“No, just… nothing thanks, tea should taste like tea.”

 

She smiles a bit and hands him a solid mug, plain and sturdy. “Don’t get any ideas, they are all unbreakable.”

 

John sighs and sits down on the edge of the cot, balancing the tea at arms length. “I told him I don’t have a death wish.”

 

“Yes, dear. But it isn’t as though you’d be the first to change your mind.” She shifts her eyes and looks down the line of cages, three in all, that make up the rest of the room.

 

“I thought you said he wasn’t bad.” John lifts the spoon to his mouth.

 

“He’s… not. I’ve been with him a long time. And I’ve seen some of the others like him.” She shakes her head and watches him eat. Twisting the edge of her cardigan. “He’s not bad, but that doesn’t mean he’s easy to live with. That’s all.”

 

John nods at her and turns his attention to the bowl. He hasn’t seen fresh fruit in longer than he cares to think about, he tries to savour it but ends up bolting it, pausing only long enough to sip tea to ease the food down. He pushes the last bit of banana onto his spoon, trying to tell himself that if he asked for another bowl she would bring him one, that he doesn’t need to worry about when or where or how his next meal will appear. 

 

“What do I call you?”

 

“Mrs. Hudson.”

 

“This was delicious, thank you Mrs. Hudson.” He pops the last bite in his mouth and scrapes the spoon around the bowl, catching stray bits of yogurt before licking the spoon clean. 

 

She smiles in answer and holds out her hand with one small red pill. “Here, take this.”

 

“What is it?”

 

“Iron, he says you’re anemic.”

 

John stands and picks up the pill, fingers barely touching the warmth of her hand. “I remember something about leafy greens.”

 

“That’s lunch dear, nice big salad. You rest now. There’s cardio scheduled this afternoon.”

 

John dry swallows the pill, then downs the rest of the tea to clear his mouth. “See you at lunch then?”

 

She reaches out to take the dishes from him. “That’s a good boy. If you need anything in the mean time, don’t shout. The house system will let me know.”

 

“A book?” John’s skeptical he’ll be allowed anything… recreational in here. 

 

“Screen on.” Mrs. Hudson nods at the solid wall behind him, now flickering with the header page of the BBC news site. “It’s voice controlled, I’m sure you can sort it out.” 

 

“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.” 

 

*************************************************

 

John lets the babble of the news wash over him, carrying him through until lunch, with only a tiny corner of his mind paying attention to the time display in the corner of the screen. As promised Mrs. Hudson arrives with another bowl, this time containing salad, with an excellent vinaigrette.

 

“Food’s better than Pharrus 7, I reckon.”

 

She looks away and clears her throat. “I’ll take that as a compliment, dear.”

 

“John.”

 

Mrs. Hudson nods and hands him a bundle of clothing and a towel. “For your run.”

 

John takes the bundle from her carefully, and drops it onto his cot to sort through. Pants, loose jogging trousers, and a towel, no shirt. He pulls the pants and trousers on under his robe, swings the towel over his shoulder and turns to see Mrs. Hudson standing with the door to his cage open. 

 

“I get to run?” He smirks a bit at that. Knowing he wouldn’t get far if he tried to run away.

 

“You have cardio scheduled every day, workout and cardio every other day, they rotate morning and afternoon. I wouldn’t know really, I just follow the schedule in the mornings. He also wants you weaned off refined sugars and carbs.”

 

John slides past the door of the cage, almost expecting her to slam it closed before he can fully escape. “Sounds fun.”

 

The workout room is just across the hall from ‘his’ room, blank white corridor stretching out on both sides. Open doors to signify his path. 

 

Mrs. Hudson nods at the treadmill when they enter the room. “45 minutes at whatever pace you like, dear.”

 

As soon as John steps onto the treadmill the blank walls begin to glow and the wall closest to him offers a selection of holos. He chooses the old growth forest almost without thinking about it and inhales deeply as the holo flickers and resolves itself into a place he’s never been. _I can do this._

***************************

 

He feels almost human again after the run and the shower that followed, goes willingly back into his cage to await dinner, his mind forcibly ignoring what happens after dinner. 

 

He flips through the options on his screen and tries not to pace. He’s good at waiting, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. He tries to do sit ups, but the robe is too heavy and loose, bunching up and catching at his neck. He’s not ready to do naked sit ups, not with the possibility of Mrs. Hudson walking in at any moment. 

 

She walks in sometime later, carrying a bowl of vegetable soup with distressingly bright green broth. 

 

“The state of you! Eat this, you’ll need a shower, before.”

 

He looks down at himself, only now realizing his attempt to exercise is obvious in every wrinkle of his robe. “Sorry.”

 

“There’s time… He’s out. Just… eat.” 

 

She’s flustered and John reddens, stammers an apology and almost burns his tongue off on the soup. 

 

******************************

 

His hair’s still damp but he is pronounced presentable nearly an hour later when he’s kneeling outside the Dominus’ door. 

 

Mrs. Hudson tsks at the hole in the wall where the chain had hung.

 

“He said it was tedious.”

 

“He’s… You’ll stay?”

 

“I’ll stay. Thank you.”

 

***********************************

 

John shakes out his shoulders and settles in to wait as Mrs. Hudson turns the far corner and vanishes. The white, cool quiet of the hall settles around John like a deep layer of snow. He thinks that the Dominus must either enjoy making him wait, or he’s still out doing whatever it is that Dominii do. 

 

This at least is like waiting to go into battle, knowing that something… is going to happen. Well, nearly. There’s nothing to decide, nothing to test himself against, nothing to prove. He can safeword out, get shipped off to Pharrus or give himself… well there’s no point in thinking about that. He’s going to do _this_ until the Dominus is finished with him; maybe he will age out, get so old and wrinkly that the Dominus won’t be interested in him anymore, maybe he will stroke out from the pleasure… but he is going to survive this… at least until it kills him.

 

John straightens again and folds his hands in his lap, resolutely not leaning against the wall for support. 

 

 


	4. I think you should

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this chapter: blindfolds, pain play (mild), more dub con (situational)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to a_xmasmurder for looking this over for me.

John looks up when the door opens, eyes trailing over the sharp crisp lines of the Dominus’ suit. 

 

The Dominus’ pale hands move to unbutton his suit jacket. “Come in.” The Dominus turns on his heel, leaving John to rise and follow of his own volition. 

 

John does, putting his hands on the floor to help unfold his legs, and wiggling his toes to restore sensation. 

 

The Dominus is standing beside the far wall, examining old fashioned paper clippings and maps pinned to the surface. John blinks and notices the slight flickering at the edges and realizes that they are just very detailed holograms. Normal people don’t bother with the coding required to personalize individual notes and just make due with the brightly coloured faux sticky notes that come as the default.

 

John closes the door behind him. “Is that the not-linked-linked suicides?”

 

The Dominus rounds on him, eyes flashing. “How did you know about that?”

 

John rocks back, the Dominus isn’t close enough to touch him, but John can feel the potential violence from across the room. “I’m sorry… Mrs. Hudson, she said I could use the screens. It’s on the news.”

 

The Dominus narrows his eyes, flicks his fingers to shut off the wall. “And you spent the morning watching the news reports?”

 

“I missed… in the hospital, a lot has happened.”

 

“Why do you care? Chances are you aren’t leaving here.” The Dominus tilts his head, eyes still sparking green.

 

John’s heart thuds in his chest. It hadn’t occurred to him to cut himself off from the outside world, even as he accepts that he isn’t going to be rejoining it anytime soon. _Ever, John. You aren’t ever going back._ “I… it still matters.”

 

“There’s been a fourth. They are keeping it out of the media for now. She was kidnapped, taken in broad daylight.” The Dominus spins on his heel and looks back at the wall.

 

John relaxes, apparently he isn’t going to be punished for watching the news, then he tenses again. “So if they were all taken, it has to be someone we would trust… someone that wouldn’t even register as a threat. Military police?”

 

“Unlikely, if the killer is working alone his partner would have noticed and reported him. If they are working together…” An extravagant flourish of his wrist, he brushes the idea away. 

“Someone else would have noticed that they weren’t on their assigned beat. The bodies were all found in different districts. So someone with access to transportation, but that wouldn’t stand out… someone people would naturally want to go with.”

 

The Dominus’ left eyebrow rises and his eyes flick away, searching for a com device. “Computer, run a search: private and public taxis and rickshaws with logged destinations or unscheduled stops at the sites each body was found, cross reference with the established TOD. Forward the result to Dimmock with instructions. Quote: “I trust you can arrest the one that matches all four deaths.” Unquote.”

 

“Did you just solve four murders?” John watches the Dominus drop the com unit back onto his desk. His heart is pounding, and he has to consciously relax his left hand. 

 

“Probably.” The Dominus watches him for a moment and then licks his lips. “Disrobe.”

 

John startles slightly, hands fumbling for the clasp at his shoulder. He carefully folds the robe and sets it down on the side table.

 

The Dominus gestures at the floor in front of him. “Kneel, hands behind your back.”

 

John does as he’s told. The mag locks on his wrists engaging as soon as they touch. He tries to move his wrists a little, testing the range of motion, finds he can adjust where the locks touch slightly, but can’t pull his wrists apart without visibly straining.

 

“You are a clever little soldier, what else are you hiding from me?”

 

John shrugs. “I was a doctor and a soldier. I learned clarinet at school.” He nods towards the violin case on one of the chairs. “Doubt I’m any good at it now though.” John licks his lips, suppressing the tiny frisson of fear at the idea that he’s being so cheeky to the Dominus. 

 

The Dominus ghosts his fingers over John’s jaw. “Luckily, you aren’t here for your musical abilities.” He turns back to the desk, opening a small box and pulling out a length of blindfold. Thick and deep black, wide enough that John won’t be able to peek out around the edges. He pauses before he lowers it over John’s eyes, nearly enough time for John to decide that he can handle this, that he doesn’t need to safeword.

 

There’s something comforting about not being able to see. If he can’t see what is coming next he doesn’t have to worry about what is happening to him. His head dips between his shoulders, dropping to the left. His cock, on the other hand, begins to take interest, because even after only one night, he knows what kneeling in front of the Dominus means.

 

The quiet noise of opening buttons and zippers sounds loud in the dark behind his eyes. “Open.” The fingers on John’s chin pull his head up, and John lets his mouth fall open. 

 

The cock that slips between his lips isn’t fully hard, John suck on it reflexively, habit pulling his lips down over his teeth. The temptation is there, in the dark to imagine that this… this isn’t what is happening. That he’s back in burned out buildings with his unit, fighting a war he will eventually lose. Easier still because he’s never actually seen the Dominus naked, can’t picture the pale skin under the Dominus’ clothing. 

 

The Dominus’ cock hardens in John’s mouth, sliding over his lips and tongue, pushing against the back of his throat. John strains against his gag reflex, feeling blood rush to his face as his breathing becomes intermittent. The Dominus curls his hand in the ties of the blindfold, holding tight and pushing John’s head down. John tries, tries to relax and let himself be forced deeper. There’s something in the way he is being held, the texture of the air, that tells him he’s nowhere close to taking the length of the Dominus’ cock into his mouth. He tries again, pushes himself closer, scoots forward on his knees to be closer to the Dominus’ body. 

 

The not-salt musky taste of the Dominus’ precome sends a jolt of pleasure through John. _Oh… oh gods… yes please come in my mouth… gods if it feels like that, please come in my mouth._ John manages to moan around the Dominus’ cock, his hips jerking against nothing. It is better and worse that he can’t touch himself. Sort of pathetic that he is on edge just from the taste, from the idea of the Dominus filling his mouth. 

 

The Dominus is so quiet, and John panics for a moment, thinking perhaps he is disappointing, that he isn’t doing enough, that the Dominus is looking down on him with a sneer and anger in his eyes.

 

“That’s _my_ good soldier.” The Dominus’ hand strokes over the top of John’s head, and John groans, the image replaced by one of the Dominus with his head thrown back, biting his lip to stay quiet as he pushes into John.

 

“Need to taste you, good little soldier.” The Dominus pulls free from John’s mouth, and hauls John to his feet, hands wrapped around John’s wrists. 

 

John stumbles, dizzy from the sudden change in position, but the Dominus’ grip stops him from falling. He takes two dragging steps and finds himself bent over the back of the Dominus’ arm chair. The air huffs out of his lungs, but the cool leather feels amazing against his cock and he has to fight to hold himself still, to not rutt against the chair. He knows it is coming and he tries to prepare himself but it is still a shock when the Dominus slides his cock over John’s hole and pushes in. The long slow push, slick with lube as it is, aggravates muscles and skin still sensitive from last night. 

 

John groans, high pitched and needy as the Dominus pulls on his wrists, forcing John to arch his back and push the Dominus’ cock deeper into John’s arse. “ _Oh… oh gods, please… please Dominus, I can’t… please… gods._ ” John inhales sharply through his nose, eyes screwed tight shut under the blindfold. “ _Dominus… please, it hurts… don’t stop, please… feels so good._ ” Every nerve is on fire, John’s body telling him that he is experiencing intense pain and incredible pleasure at the same time. 

 

The Dominus’ free hand comes up and pulls John’s head to the side, fingernails digging into John’s scalp as his the Dominus curls his fingers in the ties of the blindfold. John can feel his breath and the warmth of his skin as the Dominus brings his mouth close to John’s neck. 

 

“I will miss this. You are so tight for me now, so fresh. This, the way you are now… desperate for me, but so unsure, so untested. In a week, a month at the most, you will think that you know everything about what I will do _to_ you. Your body will let me in like I belong inside you, I will be a part of you… you will feel my loss as emptiness, accept me filling you as… but now you fight, _shush,_ I know you don’t mean to… even now you want to please me. I can taste how badly you want to please me, little soldier.”

 

John cries out, the sharp pain of the Dominus’ teeth in the still healing skin of his shoulder sending shock waves down his arm.

 

The Dominus licks John’s shoulder. “So… powerful.” The Dominus lets go of the blindfold, digs his fingers into John’s hip and slams deep into his arse. Pulls John back towards him and nuzzles into John’s ear. “So powerful, and _mine_.”

 

“ _Yes, please Dominus._ ” John can’t tell if he is shouting or whispering, his voice feels outside his control. “ _So close, gods, please… I’m so close._ ” He groans and his head falls back against the Dominus’ shoulder as he’s bitten again, sharp teeth and warm tongue working at his scar. “ _Oh… gods, please… I want you to… hurt me… please it feels so good… please it hurts._ ”

 

The Dominus slides his hand down and cups the head of John’s cock, his hand loose, just giving John something to push into and bump against. John wants to scream, might _be_ screaming for all he knows. 

 

When John comes it starts in his toes, follows through the pressure in his thighs, tacky against the leather chair and the fine wool of the Dominus’ trousers. The tips of his fingers dig, uncontrolled into the Dominus’ shirt, clutching and pulling close, even as his mouth stutters apologies. “ _Oh gods, I’m sorry… please you… feels good… gods, I’m coming… please don’t…_ ”

 

The last waves of John’s orgasm pass, and he’s falling, no longer supported by the Dominus’ bite, and unable to hold himself up.

 

“Delicious, so much better than the synthetics. Are you ready?”

 

John whimpers something that sounds like assent and braces his knees against the back of the chair. _He thinks I will get used to this…_ John chokes and gasps as the second wave of pleasure from the Dominus’ orgasm hits him, body convulsing and mind going blissfully blank.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love each and every one of you, thanks so much for reading... I seem to have worked out a timeline, so maybe... I don't know if we are going to do the thing. canon divergence... it's what's for dinner.


	5. I saw a friend that I once knew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another John/Murray flashback chapter. Warnings for rough sex (and barebacking) and not-great sexual etiquette. 
> 
> ConsultingSmartarse is the only thing that stands between me and complete chaos. She will say this is not true... she underestimates herself. (She's an amazing beta, but an even more amazing podficcer. Go listen to everything she reads)

Murray arrives before the first grey light of dawn has a chance to brighten the window of John’s borrowed classroom. John lets him in and relocks the door before dropping his trousers and kicking them in Murray’s direction. “Did you find lube, too?”

 

“I did… what would you have done if I hadn’t found any?” Murray tosses a small, more-empty-than-full tube at John, exchanging it for John’s trousers.

 

“I might’ve just sucked you off and gone back to sleep. You _are_ still going to fix the button, though.”

 

Murray smirks and shakes out the ball of clothing. “Where’d the button end up?” He hitches himself up onto one of the desks, angling to catch the little bit of light that makes it through the windows from the street.

 

“Use one of the ones off the pockets, you’re never going to find it in this mess.” John drops back down onto his doss bag, propping himself against the wall to watch Murray work. “Hurry up or we’ll miss breakfast.” John wants to make sure Murray has time to fix John’s trousers and get in a proper fuck before the ration packs get handed out just after sunrise. 

 

Murray sets to work on a messy ball of stitches that will, in theory, hold the fabric around the button-hole together, before cutting one of the buttons from John’s thigh pocket.

 

He’s nearly done stitching the button down when John gives in to temptation and slides out of his pants. He's already most of the way hard as he kicks his pants away from his ankles, letting his legs fall open as he tries to find a comfortable position on the too thin doss bag. 

 

“Gods, Watson!” Murray slides back on the desk and palms his own cock through his trousers.

 

John hums to himself, enjoying the little bursts of sensation along his nerves as his cock fills. “Are you finished?”

 

“Not yet, dammit… you’re distracting me!”

 

John sighs and opens the tube, frowning at bit at how empty it is. “Better hurry, before I decide to just fuck my fingers and leave you in the cold.” John smears his fingers with a probably-not-enough-but-it-will-have-to-do glob of lube and swipes them over his hole before pushing in. He inhales sharply at the way his nails feel against the abused skin but pushes further and groans. “Fuck, that hurts… fucking spit is not lube, Murray.” He pushes deeper and works the lube in as gently as he can.  

 

“ _Fuck_ , fucking tease, here’s your damn trousers.” Murray tosses them on the floor beside John and starts shucking out of his own clothes.

 

John uses his free hand to make sure the button is actually sewn on before pulling his fingers out and spreading his legs further for Murray. “Use the rest of that on your cock, or you’re fetching my rations for me… actually I think you _should_ bring me my rations.”

 

“Yes, Princess.” He does it anyway, squeezing the tube dry over his cock and smearing the rest between John’s legs. 

 

John inhales sharply through his nose and grits his teeth as Murray pushes into him. “Fuck _you_ raw… see how...” The rest dissolves as Murray fucks into John, short sharp thrusts that only end when Murray bottoms out. 

 

Murray kneels up and pulls John towards him, shifting John’s arse up and into his lap. “Tight little hole, needs to be fucked hard.” Murray pushes John’s knees in toward his chest and leans over, bracing himself against the wall. 

 

The angle means John can’t move, can’t do more than hook one arm around his leg and try to hold himself steady. “Yeah, c’mon then. Fuck me.” John’s voice is tight and high, his lungs feel constricted, every thrust from Murray pushing more and more air from John.

 

John’s head slips to the side as Murray crushes him into the corner, pushing deep and hard until he has to gather John up and pull him back across the floor and into Murray’s lap. John groans and Murray slaps his hand hard over John’s mouth. The edge of Murray’s pinkie finger presses against John’s nostrils. 

 

John consciously stops breathing, holding his breath as long as he can before hauling in a long sharp gasp through the small space Murray’s hand allows. If he’s not breathing he’s not moaning… and that’s fucking fantastic, because when he’s not moaning Murray fucks him harder than ever. He’s raw from last night, and it fucking _hurts._ John rolls his head away, stretching out his neck and trying for an angle where he can push back into Murray’s thrusts. 

 

“ _Gods, Watson… so fucking tight… yeah you love it… don’t you… take it…_ ” Murray whispers in John’s ear, hot breath sending thrills through John, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up straight.

 

John makes one small noise in the back of his throat and flicks his tongue out and along the crease of Murray’s fingers.

 

“Yeah… fucking suck them.” Murray curls his fingers and shoves them into John’s mouth. “Fuck… dirty fucking whore. I should share you… put you on your knees and make you suck Gregson’s cock while I fuck you.”

 

John hums around Murray’s fingers and sucks harder, a spike of pleasure shooting through him. Gregson’s not really… John doesn’t think Gregson would do it, but he can imagine Murray pushing his head down onto Gregson’s cock, John choking on it.

 

“You’d like that, maybe I should keep you for myself then. You’d be a good boy, just for me, wouldn’t you Watson?”

 

_Fuck, yeah whatever you want, Murray… fuck I just want to come._  John pushes his hand between them, demanding space to stroke his cock.

 

“That’s it, baby. Come for me, come because I’m fucking you.” Murray’s voice is low and deep and John thinks… maybe… maybe he could get off just listening to Murray talk about fucking John six ways from Sunday.

 

Murray pulls back, swiping his spit-slick fingers over John’s fist and cock before taking hold of both of John’s ankles and holding his legs apart. 

 

John throws his free arm over his mouth to try and stifle his moans; his heart feels like it might explode in his chest, beating hard and fast. “Gods, I’m so close… fuck… so good… _please Murray… fuck… please._ ”

 

Murray drops John’s left leg and reaches down, pinching John’s nipple through the thin cotton of his t-shirt, enough pain that everything lights up and John comes, upper body contracting around the point of contact. 

 

Murray pulls out and pushes on John’s thigh. “Flip over, lemme…”

 

John groans but rolls, tilting his arse up and trying to hold himself up on his elbows. He gives up when Murray slides into him and lets his upper body collapse onto the floor. If Murray wants to fuck him this way Murray can do the work of holding John’s body up. He sighs, letting the sensation of Murray fucking him become a warm background of pleasure that doesn’t require any action on his part to sustain or complete. 

 

Murray’s breath is hot on John’s ear, nothing approaching words, just hard sharp sounds of pleasure, his weight pushing John further into the floor until John can feel every crack in the tile under his sleeping bag. Murray’s arms wrap around John’s shoulders, pinning him in place as Murray’s hips surge. Murray comes, filling John with warmth and sound. The long, low groan ends with Murray digging his teeth into the flesh and cloth of John’s shoulder.

 

John sighs, holds his breath on the exhale and basks in the warmth of Murray’s body pressing him into the floor. He’s so deeply satisfied that he’s unsure of where his body ends, as if the chemical bonds holding him together have loosened into a sort of oneness with the universe… or at least with Murray’s cock and the filthy floor under them.

 

Time moves only in increments measured by Murray’s breath in John’s ear, the slow softening of Murray’s cock in John’s arse, and perhaps the slight brightening of the sky outside the dirty windows. John feels himself coming back together, the slight trickle of come down his thigh turning into something that he’d rather clean up than allow to continue. He shrugs his shoulders under Murray’s weight. “Oi, where’s my breakfast?”

 

Murray laughs, a low rumble of pleasure. “Does this mean you wanna go steady?” He pushes himself up far enough to slap John’s arse. 

 

“Well, Gregson did…” John yelps as Murray slaps his arse again, harder than before. “I’ll take that as an order then?” John raises his eyebrow, rolling slightly to look up at Murray.

 

“Damn right, Princess.” Murray gives John a wicked grin before turning away to find his trousers and pants.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should warn that future chapters of this, which are not yet written- and thank you for staying with me so far- contain multiships and partner swapping. I'll warn for it when we get there... but... it is definitely happening... probably sooner than later.
> 
> Also, thanks again for sticking with me, I know that reading a wip is always a bit dangerous and I'm terrible for WRITING ALL THE THINGS at once and not actually having a plan or schedule. I love all of you equally.


	6. Why can't we fall in love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something different for John's third morning.

John’s woken by a rattling sound, no memory of how he ended up in the bed in his cell. His eyes are gummy and he sneaks his hand out of his blankets to rub his face, cracks his eyes open against the terrible whiteness of the room.

Mrs. Hudson stands beside a rolling clothes stand sorting through shirts and trousers, occasionally looking over her shoulder to look at John. “Are you alright, dear?”

She asks the rack of clothing but John answers anyway “Is it always so bright in here?”

She makes a tiny noise between her teeth and turns towards him. “Is it brighter than yesterday?”

John shrugs under the blankets, unable and unwilling to sit up to speak to her.  “Just bright.”

“Lights to four.” The room dims by an order of magnitude and John pries his eyes open. “Better?”

“Better. I take it I have light sensitivity to look forward to?”

It is her turn to shrug. “It all depends, dear. Sometimes it only happens in the early stages - your eyesight might actually improve. There’s pills, if you get migraines, but he doesn’t like them.” She looks at the blank wall opposite the door. “Best not, unless you’re in pain. You aren’t, are you?”  

John blinks and lets his eyes adjust to the change in light. The cell is less cold and sterile now, seems almost comfortable… well if it wasn’t for the solid bars between him and Mrs. Hudson. “No. No pain, just tired.”

“Ah, that’s good. I’ll bring you some tea, and your supplements.” She slides the gate open on his cell and gestures at the rack behind her. “He wants you to pick something to wear, says he’s taking you to the Yard.”

John frowns and pushes himself up on the cot. “The Yard?”

She shrugs again and her gaze flicks towards the blank wall. “I’ll get your breakfast, dear. Choose whatever you want.”

The door closes behind her, leaving John staring at a rack of street clothes and wondering what the hell is going on.

********

He’s dressed, looking, he thinks, like the middle-aged GP he thought he was going to be before the war. Mrs. Hudson comes back in carrying some oatmeal topped with fresh fruit and a cup of tea on a tray.

He spreads his hands slightly. “Alright?”

“I should think so, dear. Eat up - he’s in his mind palace, but he said he wanted to leave when you are ready.”

“Can you see any of the…” John lifts his chin and turns his head, stretching his neck. He’d chosen the button up with the highest collar he could find, hoping to cover the flexible metal band at his throat since it seemed unlikely he’d be allowed to remove it.

“If anyone gives you any trouble… well… no one at the Yard will say anything. Sherlock is their boss… or at least he’s overseeing their division, he won’t stand for it.” Her eyes are fierce as she meets John’s gaze. “Don’t you let anyone…”

John swallows hard and nods, looking down at the bowl in his hand and remembering he is supposed to be eating. _Sherlock, his name is Sherlock?_ He tries to remember if he’d heard the name before, if there’d been a moment when they were introduced. Dominus, just Dominus. John hoards the information away, burying it deep under porridge and tea as he eats his breakfast.

She leaves him, standing beside the door to the Dominus’ chamber, and he’s just trying to decide if he should knock or kneel when the door opens.

The Dominus looks him over and nods, then spins on his heel and stalks across his sitting room, picking up an overcoat from the back of his chair. “There’s shoes and a jacket, but no hats.” The Dominus scowls, as though the idea of head wear offends him. “Can I trust you with a scarf?”

“Yes, Dominus.” John watches the Dominus move around the room, gathering items and putting them in the pockets of his overcoat. His movements are quick and sharp, nothing like the predator John’s been confronted with the last two times he’s been in this room. Still dangerous… but not… hungry. “Dominus, if I may, what am I supposed to do?”

The Dominus stands still, clear grey eyes watching, looking deeper into John than anyone’s ever bothered. “You were a doctor, and a soldier. You’ve been in danger, held the lives of others in your hands.”

“Yes.” John isn’t sure that’s how he would have worded it, but it doesn’t make it less true.

The Dominus takes a step towards him, making John shiver and lick his lips. “You understand that your life belongs solely to me now?”

John closes his eyes, ducks his chin down. He wants to say no, wants to deny the way his bones ache with need. His knees collapse under his weight and he hits the floor hard, curling down until his forehead is pressed against the floor. “Yes, Dominus.” His voice feels small, caught in the back of his throat, his lips rasping over the pile of the Persian rug.

“Get up.” Sharp like the crack of a whip and John is standing again almost as quickly as he had collapsed.

“Come here.” John’s entire body is steady, sure as he takes the two steps that separated them.

The Dominus’ fingers open John’s shirt, patiently working at the buttons. “Nearly, very soon, I will be able to trust you completely; you will obey my every command without thought to even your own safety. Then I will need to…” He pulls the collar of the shirt away from John’s skin, turns John in his grip and nuzzles against the abused flesh of John’s shoulder. “I wish I could keep you like this, just a little longer.” He sinks his teeth into John’s shoulder, digs his teeth deep into the flesh, making John gasp. “You taste amazing when you’re dangerous.”

The Dominus’ tongue probes at the wound, rough and wet and John can tell when he stops bleeding because the Dominus sighs against his skin.

His Dominus, Sherlock, pulls away, holds John away from his body to refasten the buttons on John’s shirt. He smirks when he buttons the top button. “You won’t fool anyone with this. Well, no one important at any rate. I rather liked the idea of taking you out in your robe, but Mrs. Hudson insisted it wouldn’t be proper.”

John’s eyes roll slightly back in his head when the Dominus adjusts the collar of his shirt, the backs of the Dominus’ knuckles pressing against his throat for an instant.

“Something about consent... apparently it’s fine for you to consent to be the object of my sexual and dietary needs in public. But I’m not allowed to assume the consent of…” he gestures vaguely at the area of the room that doesn’t contain John; “other people.” He wrinkles his nose, making the words sound like the worst sort of insult.

With the warm prickle of pain still hovering on John’s shoulder, he can’t bring himself to speak. He isn’t entirely sure whether or not he would agree with his Dominus, even if he could find the words.

**  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading, I love you all. I also love Consulting Smartass even though she hates it when I say so. 
> 
> Plot? What's happening? I know... i promise


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